


The Fallen Sin

by randomnormality



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 09:25:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomnormality/pseuds/randomnormality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrath hated many things about Hell.  After Falling, Lucifer commanded each of the Seven to take a human appearance, and Wrath had been forced, violently so, to take on a female appearance. </p>
<p>His second mistake had been forcing Lust, the only sibling Wrath had cared for, to work with War.</p>
<p>Lucifer's third mistake, was forcing Wrath upon the poor defenseless souls strapped to what is referred to as The Racks.  </p>
<p>Now she can tag Good ol' Luci with a fourth mistake.  Putting her in the same room as Alistair.  </p>
<p>Realizing Lucifer's fifth came as Wrath stands in the shadows of The Rack, watching Alistair as he rips the flesh off of the green-eyed soul's back with each, viscous lash.</p>
<p>Then, Lucifer made the worst mistake of his existence.</p>
<p>His smell, his taste, his voice and his touch, lingers in the air around her and as the dull pain grows numb, a humorless chuckle fills the room.</p>
<p>'God, Heaven, or whoever might be listening. Congratulations. I guess praying all this time to you was pointless. The Righteous One has spilled blood and the seal has been broken. I hope all of you burn in The End.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fury of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings: Wrath/Dean, Wrath/Castiel (Potentially Dean/Wrath/Castiel), Ruby/Sam (Current), Lust/Sam (Future)
> 
> Summary: The Seven Temptations were created by God to test the will of Man. With the Fall of Lucifer, the archangel Michael forcefully sent the Seven with his Fallen brother into Hell. Yet, not all of the Seven are pleased by this. Wrath, the youngest of the Temptations, soon finds herself helping the Righteous Man put a stop to the Apocalypse.
> 
> Rating: This story is rated M for violence, future sexual content and adult language

After God created the newborn and rebellious race of Man and the banishment of Adam and Eve from the paradise known as Eden, God sought out ways to test the human race, to prove their faith and belief. In the wake of His plan, He created the Seven Angels of Temptation.

The first had been Pride. Pride often targeted men in a seat of power, forcing their own arrogance to grow to dangerous levels. Most of Pride's targets fell to the temptation and the feeling of being best.

The next had been Greed. Greed, taking a page from Pride's book, targeted men in power. Greed granted these men their first tastes of gain; either in land, money or power itself, and Greed cackled with pretentiousness. Greed often took pleasure in watching his targets grow in their desires.

The third had been Gluttony. Gluttony was not like the previous two. Gluttony targeted anyone, but usually waited for the opportune moments. Gluttony's sick perversion was often to wait, mostly for civil disputes within the individual countries Man had created. Gluttony enjoyed watching Greed's targets take more and more for themselves, leaving the Temptation of absolute hunger drive into minds of the humans left on the outside.

The fourth had been Sloth. Sloth, lazy in nature, had gone the easy route and placed a small seed of laziness in the hearts of every single human, from the moment they are granted life. Sloth's idea had been ingenious at best, as it allowed Man to decide whether to live an active life or avoid it all together. Despite the laziness, Sloth was probably the smartest.

Envy, the fifth one born, had been the most dangerous of the Temptations. Perhaps, it was due to Envy's mark festering in the heart of men and women alike. As Envy's temptation grew, it left an opening for Greed and Pride to plant their own temptations. Envy was like a snake, coiled and waiting for the right moment to strike.

Lust, the sixth born, carried a different type of danger than Envy. Lust poured all over the world, much like Sloth, and laid waste to every human in existence. From Lust's temptation, Envy often took solace as it left others tempted by Lust to grow envious.

The youngest of all, Wrath, was dangerous, unable to be tamed by any other. Wrath planted a seed of anger in every heart at the moment of birth, but let it remain buried. Wrath enjoyed raising tensions between people, kingdoms and lovers. The raw, untapped anger in Man went unchecked.

The Seven Temptations acted alone, together and sometimes partnered with other Temptations, as they brought Man to the cusp of life. They had not been created to torture Man, but teach them fear, faith, love and forgiveness. God wanted Man to be tested, to prove they are worthy to cross the Gates of Heaven. Sadly, God seemed to forget, the Seven Temptations were the embodiment of their Sins.

When the the Great War of Heaven, the Temptations were stuck in the middle. They have seen the things the humans are willing to do to gain power, wealth, love, prestige, and land. God had grown soft toward Man and the Temptations were constantly at work, with no end in sight. When the second eldest archangel, Lucifer, stood firm against the compassion shown toward Man, while angels were given servitude, the Temptations were torn apart. Greed, Pride and Envy were quick to join Lucifer's ranks. Sloth, too lazy to want to fight, stayed out of the war. Gluttony, in the beginning, sided with God and his followers, but eventually gave into his own temptation and switch sides. Lust and Wrath, the youngest of their siblings, were left to stand alone. Lust loved humanity, but could understand Lucifer's plight. Wrath had no dedication to either party. The two youngest were forced to fight to survive. Some of God's faithful believed the two youngest Temptations to have also sided with Lucifer, and Lucifer stated 'If you refuse to side with us, then you are against us'.

In the end, it didn't matter. As Michael defeated Lucifer and cast him into the pit of Hell, the oldest of all the celestial beings turned his sights on his brother's followers, and soon the Temptations. denounced from Heaven, all of the Seven were forcefully thrown into Hell. Forced to follow Lucifer's bidding, the Seven were ordained with tasks. Greed, Pride and Envy were frequently allowed to tamper with humans. Gluttony was forced to work with Famine. Sloth had been forced to work with Pestilence. Lust aided War, using the desires of Man to copulate fights. Wrath, the youngest, was forced to work in Hell, anger and rage forcing the youngest of the Seven to torture and break souls. The personified anger used the built up frustration and anger, everything focused toward Lucifer and Michael, and took it out on the souls presented on the racks, hoping for the day Wrath could escape.

Curiously, it all started with the arrival of the fated Righteous Man.

* * *

Wrath hated many things about Hell. After Falling, Lucifer commanded each of the Seven to take a human appearance, and Wrath had been forced, violently so, to take on a female appearance. Hair as dark and as red as the anger that burned within, as untamed as her personality. Wrath was given eyes a sulfur-golden eyes, which burn bright against the darkness of her hair. Her figure was on the petite side, but even those that know nothing of who she is can sense the respect commanded with each step she takes. Wrath hates taking on the appearance of a human. Not only is it unnatural at best, but it is not as disposable as a vessel. Trapping the humanized Wrath in the form of a human had been Lucifer's first mistake.

His second mistake had been forcing Lust, the only sibling Wrath had cared for, to work with War. As much as Lust enjoyed making people give into their desires, the Sixth Temptation hated war. Fighting to defend a love, or for their deepest desires, Lust is willing to do so, but to put Lust in the midst of War's grasp, under his command, and throw the Temptation into dangerous situations increases Wrath's anger.

Lucifer's third mistake, was forcing Wrath upon the poor defenseless souls strapped to what is referred to as The Racks. Wrath had no qualms with Man, she honestly believed that forcing humans to struggle against the Temptations her and her siblings brought upon them was the best way to prove they deserved to rest eternally in paradise. Ironically, Wrath was probably the most level-headed of her siblings.

"Wrath," a weak, slightly broken voice calls out, pulling the red-headed Temptation out of her internal meditation.

Turning her golden gaze to the speaker, Wrath nods amicably at the brown-haired beauty. Unlike Wrath, Lust favored the form of a woman. As her name insinuates, Lust's figure is curvy in all the right places, every feature about the beautiful Temptation soft and full. It is the greatest difference between the two youngest siblings, where Lust is soft, Wrath appears more strong.

"Is something wrong, Lust?" Wrath asks, gold eyes blank as she stares at the brown-haired beauty.

Lust shifts, her soft blue eyes glancing away from the red-head briefly, and nods curtly, "Word has traveled through the grape vine. Apparently, Lilith caught herself a sweet soul and it has been ordered that both you and Alistair are on Rack duty."

Wrath nods stiffly before standing up from her meditative position. Bidding her sister a silent good-bye, the ruby-haired woman heads toward the Rack. Now she can tag Good ol' Luci with a fourth mistake. Putting her in the same room as Alistair. Wrath can't stand the sadistic demon. If Wrath's abilities weren't so limited after being cut off from Heaven, she would have smited the sadist ages ago.

Locating Alistair's intended, Wrath immediately notices the stubborn green eyes. Wrath is used to the usual souls that come to Hell. Full of hatred and self-righteous anger. As if they did no wrong to get here. This soul, this rather beautiful soul glaring at Alistair with defiance, is not like the others before him. No. This soul accepts its place, knows that it had only been a matter of time. This soul...doesn't belong here. Wrath's musings grow darker as she watches Alistair strike the soul, the cocky response given driving Alistair's anger even more so.

Something didn't feel right.

"Take him," Alistair's cool, cooing voice calls out, pulling her dull gold eyes to the white-eyed demon, "Fix him up and have him prepped for tomorrow. We have to make sure he receives a proper welcome."

Wrath says nothing as Alistair turns and leaves. Once the sadistic demon disappears, Wrath turns to stare at those defiant eyes. Even torn clean through by the Hell Hounds, even with the predetermined test Alistair gave him during her inner thoughts, this soul refuses to look away, refuses to back down in his defiance.

Wrath kind of likes it.

Pulling him from The Rack, Wrath says nothing as she forcefully pulls the warm soul from the torture chamber and into the recovery room. Forcing him to lay down on the bed, Wrath begins applying the special ointment. Knowing Alistair, he wants this soul in perfect shape, not a single blemish visible.

"Why are you healing me?" the soul asks, green eyes looking up from the wound on his thigh as it stitched itself together.

Wrath glances up briefly before turning her gaze back to her duties, "Alistair likes his intended to be without a single bruise or cut when he tears into them."

"Gee. Ever hear of beating around the bush? Or sugar coating things?" the soul snarks.

"No. There is no point in telling you a lie, or giving false hope. You will soon learn your place, just like those before you," Wrath replies, her voice monotonous and dull.

A snort echoes in the room, "My place? Apparently, they don't know who they're dealing with?"

"It doesn't matter. I have only known very few to never crack, but those have never been given to Alistair," Wrath comments, pulling her fingers away from the healed soul. "It doesn't matter who you are, or who you might have been. All of that carries no point."

"What makes Alistair so bad?" the soul questions, his tone hard, even in its curiosity.

Wrath finally meets the defiant green gaze, "Let me put it to you this way. The demon that held your contract, Lilith," A dark gleam flickers through those green eyes, but Wrath continues, " _She_  would never dare set Alistair off. While Lilith is Luci's first of his creations, Alistair is his most dangerous. None of the other demons can hold a candle to the man's sadistic tendencies. He  _will_  break you, and after, build you up as his own puppet."

Wrath motions for the soul to follow, and is surprised when those green eyes narrow thoughtfully, "You speak as if you are not a demon."

Wrath says nothing, reaching up to yank the soul out of the room. Leading the soul into a well made cell, Wrath shoves him into the room.

"Wait," Wrath pauses as she makes to leave the cell, "Who are you?"

"Wrath," she replies curtly, gold eyes meeting the still-defiant green briefly, before she shuts the door, activating the sigil, locking the soul inside.

* * *

Realizing Lucifer's fifth, and greatest, mistake, came as Wrath stands in the shadows of The Rack, watching Alistair as he rips the flesh off of the green-eyed soul's back with each, viscous lash. The soul's screams had become hoarse and Wrath knew it was only a matter of time before Alistair grew bored. Alistair enjoyed making his victims scream. The crimson blood pours like waterfalls, the soul's back nothing but ribbons of blood, tissue and visible bone. Though the soul had screamed in all of his agony, he had yet to break down and cry for relief. His round face, hardened to keep the painful expression at bay, is also stained red, cuts and broken cartilage from Alistair's physical beatings just moments before. The echoing screams from other tortured souls doesn't bother Wrath as they used to, the song of agonizing souls having long since become a lullaby. The gut-wrenching stench of blood, ash and brimstone fills the very air, casting a veil of oppression across every inch of Hell. Hell was torturous, never-ending and filled with cackling demons searching for a fresh soul to tear into.

Whoever thought different was only lying to themselves.

"You know, it is quite simple to get off the Rack," Alistair's hissing, lisped voice teases, and Wrath finds her eyebrow twitch, "You can get off when you put souls on."

"Fuck you," the green-eyed soul spits out, determination visible, as he spits a mouthful of crimson saliva.

Alistair grins, "Oh, you wait. It isn't everyday we get a Winchester here," A familiar feeling tingled at the back of Wrath's mind as she listens to Alistair's boastful gloating, "I will take pleasure in breaking you, boy. You," Wrath's golden gaze glares coldly at the demon's commanding voice, "take him. Get him healed and allow him some time to rest. I am going to contemplate more ways of getting this one to break."

Wrath nods curtly, watching as the sadistic demon disappears from the Rack. Dragging the soul back to the healing room, Wrath shoves the tattered soul toward the bed, her golden gaze burning dangerously as she leans close. Something  _was_  different about this soul. Seeing the green eyes glare back, still defiant, Wrath does nothing to move from the close proximity.

"Who were you when you were alive?"

"D-Dean...Dean Winchester," he grunts, his voice roughened from fighting back screams of agony, "Why does it matter?"

"How strong are your convictions, Dean Winchester?" Seeing the confusion in those eyes, Wrath continues, "Do you ever see yourself giving in?" Seeing him shake his head, "Do you think you can stay that way, defiant and refusing?"

"Why?" he croaks.

"Because...you don't belong here, and I am going to find a way to get you out."

Dean's green eyes burn as he looks up at her, "Why should I believe some yellow-eyed demon?" Wrath's fingers pause in their movements, "My family has had enough problems with yellow-eyed demons making deals."

A cry of pain leaves Dean's lips as her fingers press against a tender (slowly closing) wound, "I am not a demon," Wrath's nimble fingers move away from the injury to his hair, gripping the back of his head to yank his body into a painful arch, her cold gaze glaring into his eyes, "You would do well to remember it."

* * *

Wrath sinks into a seated position in the darkness of the room, her eyes sliding shut. She knows something is wrong. Lucifer is up to something. Something big. Dean Winchester. There is something special about him, but what? She had never heard of Alistair offering to take a soul off of the Rack. The blatant defiance will only fuel Alistair's blood lust. It is unheard of to take a soul off of the Rack, offering them to escape the pain. Allowing them to break other souls, put more souls on the Rack. Again, unheard of. Soul break easily, but none are given a chance to escape the pain.

So why Dean Winchester? His convictions seem strong, his determination unmatched. It is obvious Dean carries a sense of self-right, that alone fueling his defiance. Someone with that much righteousness would never allow themselves to spill the blood of others, at least not the innocent, she assumes.

Wrath's eyes snap open. Righteousness. Spilling blood in Hell. The proverbial lightbulb clicks on as she realizes Dean isn't just an ordinary righteous man. He is  _the_  Righteous Man.

Licking her lips, Wrath's hands tremble as she brings them from her lap, raising them before her breasts. Placing her palms together, Wrath closes her eyes as, for the first time in many ages, she bows her head in a silent prayer.

_'I pray to you, God, and those blessed in Heaven's light. The Righteous One has been pulled within the Gates of Hell. He stands firm, but the Sadistic One is unrelenting. I pray that someone will hear this plea and bring forth the change that is needed.'_

She isn't sure if her prayer will be answered, but she will do her best to keep the Righteous One from breaking. She has to be smart about it though. If they catch onto what she is doing, she will be the one on the Rack, and unlike the souls trapped here, she would not go down without a fight.

* * *

Days turn into months. Months progress into years. Years fade into decades. Wrath watched daily, silent and immobile as always, as Alistair tore into the soul of the Righteous Man. In the beginning, the tortures were common methods, archaic tools used to cut, bleed, poke, twist and stretch applied every single day. Each day, Wrath watched in silence as Alistair gives the same offer, only to have it spat back in his face.  _Literally_. As the years progressed, the tortures grew more painful. She watched with cold, empty eyes as Alistair slowly take a saw to the soul's limbs, the manic gleam in the demon's eyes flashing as the blood flows like endless rivers of crimson. Each time, she is forced to patch him up, she returns to her quarters and sends a prayer. Each day, she leaves him with curt words that seems to bring the life back into his dulled eyes. His defiance remains strong.

Then, Lucifer made the worst mistake of his existence.

"You summoned me?" Wrath questions in greeting, empty gold eyes staring straight at the Fallen Angel.

"It would appear that Alistair is having difficulties breaking the soul of Dean Winchester," Lucifer states, cruel blue eyes staring back at her.

Wrath allows her eyebrow to cock, "This is my problem?"

"It is funny you should ask," Lucifer says as he stands from his thrown, moving closer to her until his flush presses against her own, and without pulling his gaze from her own, he motions for someone to step forward. "It appears that people forget that I am not a demon. I am an archangel, despite my Fall, and I still retain a rather remarkable amount of Grace." A flash of soft brown from the corner of her eye causes Wrath's eyes to grow colder, "I've heard everything, Wrath. You seek to destroy my plans, and thus, I must destroy you." Lucifer steps away from the angry Temptation and Wrath spots her sister, standing with her hands clasped before her, blue eyes sorrowful and pleading, "I will destroy what you hold most dear."

"No," Wrath snaps out, her voice hardened and brisk, forcing Lucifer to snap his glare in her direction, "I will take whatever punishment you see fit. Lust has done nothing to warrant your cruelty."

A cold chuckle reverberates around the room as Lucifer pats Lust's cheek softly, "Oh no, my dear. I would never harm the Temptation that helps fuel War so easily," He clicks his tongue in a scolding manner, "No, no, no. No, I am going to destroy the very control you keep." Lucifer runs the tip of his tongue along the shell of Lust's ear, "Do it."

A small trace of worry flashes through Wrath's mind as the tearful blue eyes seem to flush red with despair as the brunette steps forward. Though her face remains stoic, Wrath worries about the emotional mess her sister has become. What is Lucifer up to? All of it fades as realization snaps in place as Lust's palm presses against the red-head's chest.

_I'm sorry, Sister._

The apology passes through her mind before Wrath feels a torrent of forcefully induced hormones ravage her body. Gritting her teeth, Wrath bulks as her body acts on its own accord. Mentally screaming as her own body moves toward the King of Hell, she inwardly shudders as his fingers drags through her hair along the back of her head. Forced to her knees, Wrath forces her mind and thoughts to blank as Lucifer's other hand grips her chin, his thumb pressing down along the spot where her jaw connects to her skull, forcing her mouth open. She curses his existence as a salty-tang flavor fills her mouth and her mind shuts down, with one last, lingering thought.

She was going to kill him.

* * *

When her mind returns to her, she finds herself hooked up to the Rack. The hooks pierced through the junction between her collarbones pull dangerously at her weight, too-hot iron shackles wrapped around her ankles kept her bare form sprawled for all to see. Embarrassment is not something she ever feels, and instead her stomach churns as faint memories of Lucifer; his smell, his taste, his voice and his touch, lingers in the air around her. She doesn't bother struggling against her bonds, as it would only cause more pain. Hearing a familiar sadistic voice coo her name, as if she is a bird with a lame wing, her dull gold gaze lifts from the ground to meet the stark white gaze of Alistair. Horror burns through her mind as she sees the familiar defiant soul standing off to Alistair's left.

He gave in. Thirty years and he gave in. She was too late.

Those same green eyes showed only the slightest bit of hesitancy before the soul reluctantly lifts a barbed, leather whip. Seems like Alistair was going to break his new puppet in with the basics. It doesn't hurt as much in the beginning, but Alistair's instructions soon has Dean ripping flesh from her bone with a single lashing. The pain is endless, but she closes her eyes, swallowing back the screams. She may have been violated and tortured, but she refuses to give Lucifer the satisfaction of her breaking.

Tossed back into her cell, not having the option of being healed, Wrath remains crumbled on the ground. Seeing the remorseful green eyes stare at her briefly, licks away the blood coating her lips.

"I'm sorry," Dean's voice echoes, hollow with despair.

Wrath chuckles mirthlessly, her head tilting back as the cold laughter bounces around the room, "I'd tell you to go to Hell, but seeing as though you joined the ranks, I'm going to go with a big old fuck you."

"I couldn't do it anymore," Dean whispers.

"Save it for someone who cares, Winchester," she rebukes monotonously, "I honestly thought you would remain strong in your convictions, but I see you are like everyone else."

Nothing is said as Dean leaves the room. Wrath chuckles humorlessly as the dull pain begins to numb over and she closes her eyes.

_'God, Heaven, or whoever might be listening. Congratulations. I guess praying all this time to you was pointless. The Righteous One has spilled blood and the seal has been broken. I hope all of you burn in The End.'_


	2. Tears of the Humane

Chapter Two- Tears of the Humane

* * *

_We are coming. Stay strong._

Wrath knew she wasn't helping her situation. Not in the least bit. Alistair seemed to get his kicks from watching Dean torture her, trying to get her to break, watching Dean struggle through his self-hatred and reluctance. After the first week of basic torture, Alistair had gone off to do his own damage to other souls, leaving Dean on his own. For the first week of Alistair's teachings, she watched as Dean slowly began to lose his humanity and wondered how she could stop him from breaking completely.

It is during his first solo-torture that she learned the best way to get at him.

Wrath watches silently, her body hooked up to the Rack and her ankles shackled apart, as Dean enters the the chamber. He says nothing as he walks over to the instruments splayed out on a table, his shoulders tense and his body stiff as he picks up the barbed whip. Seeing the empty green eyes stare at her, Wrath allows her own defiance to burn in her gold gaze.

"I have orders to get you to talk," Dean's gruff voice states, his grip tightening around the handle of the whip as she stares at him with burning eyes, "Alistair says Lucifer knows you've been praying and wants to know what you know. Not that there's much praying will do for you."

Wrath's eyes dull significantly, her features growing stoic in blatant refusal, "I have no idea what you speak of."

Dean says nothing and moves to stand behind her. With a crack of the whip, Wrath's teeth clench as she feels the flesh rip from her back, the pain burning hot. Several cracks follow and Wrath mentally pushes her mind in a mild-meditative state, her back tensing as one of the lashes swipes over an open wound, tearing deeper into her flesh. The revolting stench of blood and burnt flesh wafts around her, a lump forming in her throat that is slowly becoming difficult to swallow.

The lashing cease for a moment as Dean walks around to face her, his green eyes a dark, empty void, "What do you know?"

"You are pathetic," she bites out, watching his body tense, "You are weak. Your convictions mean nothing."

A hiss manages to slip through her lips as the barbed tip of the whip snaps against her bare stomach, "You know nothing about me."

"You are no better than the demons running rampant around this place," she spits out, her internal fury growing more heated, the sensation permeating the room.

Seeing his green eyes flash with rage, she bites the inside of her cheek as the barbed top rips the flesh from her chest, the laceration more shallow than the other, but deep enough to show bone through flesh, "I am  _nothing_  like them."

Licking at the open wound her teeth created in her mouth, Wrath brings her head back slightly before she spits crimson at him, "No. You are worse than them. They've never been human. They never turned their back on their humanity because they never had it to begin with."

The whip drops to the floor and Wrath's observant gaze barely catches Dean's movements as his bare hand lashes out, finger clamping around her throat. The unbridled fury within him shudders through his body and Wrath's mind clicks in recognition as she feels her influence grow thick in the air surrounding them. The tightly clenched fingers around her throat squeeze tighter and she forces herself to breath through her nose, rather than her mouth, as furious green eyes glares down at her.

" _Shut up!_ " Dean hisses viciously, the raw emotion causing his voice to grow hoarse, "Just answer the fucking question."

"I did," she chokes out, unable to hide the cringe as his fingers tighten even more around her throat.

An inhuman growl rumbles in his chest before he releases his hold on her throat, stalking off toward the table. She barely has a chance to tense as a bucket of salted ice water is dumped over her head. Unable to keep the soft, drawn-out cry at bay, her eyes shut involuntarily as the salted water drips into the open flesh of her wounds, the chemical reaction between the ice and salt burning painfully along the tender flesh.

"What do you know?" Dean demands, his voice strained with anger and some other emotion she can't recognize.

Opening her eyes, she feels an odd sense of disappointment trickle in her quickly beating heart. She says nothing, opting to remain silent. She watches with a disappointed gaze as his body grows tense with raw anger. Something akin to hatred burns in his gaze as he picks the whip off of the floor. Her gaze never leaves him as he locates another bucket of salted water, dipping the barbed tip and a hefty length of the tail into the bucket. Turning back to her, she sees the slightest flinch in his features, as if she had said something.

"Stop," he commands, her features remain locked in its expression and Dean lets out a growl of fury, "I said stop!" The whip cracks and she grunts as the salt-water drenched barb tears into the flesh of her stomach, the blood oozing down her torso and thighs, "Stop looking at me like that." Another crack sounds and another grunt leaves echoes from her chest as the whip strips another layer of flesh from the same wound, "I couldn't handle it! You were gone for days and I couldn't take it anymore." The whip cracks repeatedly as his words thicken with emotional turmoil, "You weren't there to keep me sane. You left! You left, you yellow-eyed bitch! What makes you think you are any better than me?"

Wrath's eyes close as a numb feeling takes over the pain, knowing it is only a matter of time before her mind gives into the shadows dancing in her vision. A thud sounds, and she barely manages to get her eyes to open before a familiar hand is at her throat again, clamping firmly. A gasp for air forces her lips to part and she shudders as chapped lips captures her own in a furious kiss. The taste of salt tingles along her taste buds, the raw, emotional need nearly suffocating her as the vicious kiss grows more passionate in its aggression. The shadows dancing along the edges of her vision begins to spread, an odd sensation of vertigo taking hold of her as her world plunges into darkness.

* * *

_What of the Righteous Man?_

_'He losing hope. I am trying, but his convictions have been stripped from him and his humanity is on the cusp.'_

_Is there anything you can do? To keep his humanity intact? If he loses his humanity, he will no longer be human._

_'I will do what I can, Castiel, but you must hurry.'_

_We are laying siege to Hell as we speak. It will take some time._

Wrath doesn't know who this Castiel is. It had been so long since she had seen the light of Heaven and when she did, the numbers of Celestial bodies seemed endless. He seems strong-willed and determined to break Dean out of Hell, and Wrath hopes she can keep Dean human. Opening her eyes, she groans as she feels herself still on the Rack, her wounds left to fester and ache. It seems like Good Ol' Luci is really trying to get her to break. Silly old Fallen One. As if she was going to give in. It had been two weeks since Dean's first solo-torture session and each day, she is kept on the Rack and watches with disappointing eyes as Dean continues to rip into her. Apparently, her disappointment makes him angry and each time, she fuels his anger to dangerous heights, until he gives into his aggressive tendencies and embraces her broken body in an angry kiss, the salt from his tears lingering along her taste buds.

Hearing the door open, her gaze moves from the ground to see Dean enter the chamber, his eyes cold. The blood on his hands tells her that he had been busy breaking other souls. He doesn't even pause at the table of instruments and a hiss leaves her broken lips as his fingers delve into the thick red curls, curling to grip the back of her head before chapped lips slam down upon her own, forceful, angry and aggressive. She groans as she is violently yanked off of the Rack, her body unable to stay upright and she buckles to her knees. The painful, forceful tug at her hair causes her to gasp and her oral passageway is stretched painfully as his hips thrust violently. Closing her eyes, she ignores the burn along her throat. Definitely Alistair's puppet.

The salty residue left in the wake of his climax leaves her feeling disgusted and disappointed. The tightening grip of his fingers in her hair causes her eyes to blink open, and whatever her eyes reflected causes him to shove her back.

"I told you to stop looking at me like that."

Wrath swallows back the bile in her throat, "You expect some form of respect?" A weak, empty chuckle leaves her lips, "I was wrong. You  _are_  like the other demons around here."

"Like you have room to talk. I hear that you help Alistair torture people," Dean sneers, hooking her back onto the Rack.

Weakly motioning to her current situation, Wrath gives him a sarcastic, empty smile, "Oh yes, as you can see, I tear apart the souls of the innocent."

"What souls in Hell are innocent?" Dean snarks in return.

"You were here, weren't you?" A dark look flashes through his gaze, but she doesn't bother keeping her words to herself, "Well, at least you  _were_  innocent. Maybe not where Man deems innocent, but you were a soldier fighting the good fight, fighting in the name of good. Now? Now you are no better than Lucifer himself." A long, drawn-out yelp leaves her lips as a a knife slides into her side, piercing her flesh with ease, the fury burning in Dean's gaze doing nothing to keep her words at bay, "Don't worry, Winchester. I won't hold it against you. God forbid you keep your morals."

"So I'm supposed to let them torture me for the rest of eternity? At what point will it end?"

She turns her gaze from him, "If you have to ask, then your convictions weren't as strong as you believed."

A growl rumbles and heavy footsteps sound before the door slams shut, the chamber darkening.

_'I am not sure how much more I can take of this, Castiel. I hope you are close.'_

_Within a matter of a few days. You have done well._

_'Tell it to someone who cares. You owe me for this.'_

_Whatever you desire._

_'My sister's freedom.'_

_And your own?_

_'Unless your offer shows the possibility of me killing Luci, I want nothing but her freedom from this place.'_

_Consider it done._

* * *

As the days grow, Dean's angry, sexual abuse grows more and more vicious. At first, it was him, bent on release. Then, it appeared Alistair learned of Dean's oral fuck fest and ordered Dean to use it to get answers from her. She knows Castiel and the garrison are close, she can feel it in her bones, and she hopes that they arrive soon. The cold green eyes staring at her as his fingers forcefully penetrate her sex causes the disappointment to solidify even more. With her sister's influence in the air, she shudders as her body is forced to respond to his touch. It isn't until she feels his flesh press against her opening that she turns her gaze to him. Choking back her raw anger toward the Fallen Angel and the Sadist, her shaky hand reaches up to cup the cheek of the Righteous One, his own gaze growing confused. She says nothing, her heart sincerely breaking for the weight on this one man's shoulders, and weakly her head lifts up to capture his lips in a soft kiss. Salty tears dances along their tongues, his body shuddering as his own body responds to her sister's influence and he sinks into her body.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice broken and sorrowful against her lips, "I'm so sorry. I...I can't control it."

She feels her heart hammer in her chest, stricken by the raw, emotional angst as his thrusts remain slow, powerful and unrelenting, the cold gleam in his eyes falling away, showing the broken mess beneath. She says nothing, her lips and tongue moving with his as his fingers dig painfully into her hips, his movements growing speed and depth, the once painful, forceful embrace becoming tender and determined.

"I...I can't stop it, b-but I will make this pleasurable for you," he whispers against the swell of her breast, his lips brushing along her tender skin.

Her body shakes, shuddering at the foreign tenderness. Perhaps, his convictions still held true. Seeing the determination in his gaze, the soft, apologetic sorrow, she allows a small, shaky smile to tug at her lips. The pace of his movements builds faster, the heat flooding her body climbing higher as her back arches, giving into the temptation swirling in the air around them.

"I'm sorry, Wrath," he continues to whisper as her body grows more and more tense with building passion.

"D-Dean," the barely audible gasp leaves her own lips, broken as her passion hits its peak, tumbling over the edge of her climax, the responding groan rumbling in his chest as his own climax follows, his sweat-soaked and tear-stained cheek resting against her heaving chest. Unsure of what to do, her hand lifts up and fingers run gently through his hair, "I-It's alright, Dean. I forgive you."

Whether it is from her tender touch or her soft acceptance, she finds her arms instinctively wrapping around the shuddering shoulders as the desperate soul breaks down. The heart-wrenching sobs from this strong man causes Wrath to close her eyes, her fingers continue to stroke and pet his hair, allowing him to burden her with his emotional response.

"I was wrong, you know," she states, his body still wrapped around her own, refusing to leave her for the moment, "You are nothing like these creatures."

_We have arrived._

_'The Racks. He's close to breaking completely. You have to get him out of here.'_

Pulling herself from him, she cups his cheek, pulling the broken gaze up to her own, "They have come for you, Dean. You must go, take Lust with you," Wrath motions weakly to her sister standing in the dark corner of the chamber, "Stay strong, Dean."

"I'm not leaving you here," he states, his stubborn conviction returning, even as the doors to the chamber bursts open in a flash of hot, white light. "You have to come with me."

"I'm not sure I am allowed to leave," she replies, her gaze shifting to the angelic grace standing before them, "Go with him, Dean. Castiel will raise you up."

Wrath watches with a small smile as Dean is pulled from the room, her gaze turning to Lust, "Good-bye for now, Sister."

"I love you," she replies.

Wrath says nothing, nodding as a blinding white light envelopes her as well. Closing her eyes, Wrath smiles as the weight of her world lifts off of her shoulders. Her sister was safe, and away from War's grasp. Her eyes open when warm hands carefully grips her shoulders, pulling her from the Rack. Dark blue eyes burn bright with Grace and she smiles weakly.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Castiel."

Whatever the angelic being may have said is lost on her as her world spins around her and she plunges back into darkness.

* * *

"Wrath," the melodic voice pierces through the haze of shadows, bringing Wrath into a state of awareness.

Opening her eyes, the dark blue gaze of Lust stares down at her. That wasn't what catches her attention. The backdrop of light blue, tinged with fluffs of white and the warmth of the distant Sun causes her to snap upright from her prone position. The area around them appears as though a bomb went off, the woods dead and pressed flat against the ground. Looking around, her gaze falls on a figure standing a few feet away. Soft-brown almost dark-blonde hair. Strong, bulky build. Tense fight-or-flight stance. Curious, soulful and determined green eyes.

"He's okay, then?" Wrath chokes out.

Lust nibbles on her bottom lip, before nodding, "Uh, he's alive if that's what you mean. He...doesn't remember everything."

Well, shit. Wrath struggles to her feet, brushing off the odd denim jeans, black t-shirt and thin-leather duster jacket she seemed to be wearing. Damn those angels and their modesty.

_Be thankful. I could have left you in the field naked as the day you were...born._

_'Bite me, Feathers.'_

She shakes her head, cutting off the thought process before approaching the human Dean Winchester, "Well, it looks like we managed to get out."

"Who are you? Your friend here wouldn't say," his husky, curt voice demands.

"Well...we don't really have any...conventional names like you," Wrath says, bowing her head lightly, "It has been a long time since we've walked on Earth. They call me Wrath, this here is my sister, Lust. We, like you, were wrongly trapped in Hell."

"You mean you remember?"

Opting to play the ignorance card, Wrath shakes her head negatively, "I'm afraid I remember bits and pieces. Then again, that's probably best."

Dean rubs the back of his neck, as if unsure of what to do, "I'm guessing you guys being in the Pit for so long means you don't have family," Both of the women shake their heads, "I have to get a hold of someone, so we need to find a place with a phone of some kind. Hopefully, my friend can make sure there's nothing wrong with us."

Agreeing with him, the two Temptations follow Dean as the trio begins their several-miles-long hike along hot asphalt. Nothing is said between the three. Dean, most likely, was deep in thought, trying to figure out what occurred during his stint in Hell. Lust, most likely, still feels guilty over what happened between Wrath and Dean, and Wrath and Lucifer. Wrath says nothing because she finds herself having a mental conversation with the angel on her shoulder.

_He must figure out and accept what I am in his own terms. You cannot force him to believe angels pulled him from Hell._

_'I am aware of this, Castiel.'_

_He is not aware of his importance and I wish it to stay that way. He is barely put back together and I fear any more pressure will cause him to break permanently._

_'I don't think he will remain broken, despite of the situation. Maybe he shouldn't know now, but eventually he will blame himself for everything that is to follow and the pressure will only mount higher.'_

_What do you suggest we should do?_

_'There is nothing we can do to stop the inevitable break down, we can only hope he will overcome the trials ahead.'_

_You are strange, given that you are one of the Seven._

_'Tell me something I don't know, Feathers'_

_Our wings are not technically feathers._

_'I said something I don't know. Not something that mortals have perceived them to be._ ' Wrath smirks at the silence, ' _When you figure out something I don't know, you let me know_ '

Wrath rubs at the subtle ache in her shoulder, her attention leaving the mental conversation to the bottle of water extended to her in a silent offer. Looking up at Dean, she manages a small nod of thanks before chugging half of the contents. As the electronics in the old gas station begin to act up, Wrath rolls her eyes before elbowing Lust, both women covering their ears as a high pitched ring pierces through the air. There is no pain of course, but Wrath feels the subtle ringing in her ears. It seems as though she is as susceptible as humans, Lust as well for that matter, but not to much so that either are curled up on the floor as Dean appears to be.

_'Stop, Castiel. He may not be ready to hear you.'_

The high-pitched ringing stops and a round of relieved sighs echoes in the store. Standing up, Dean brushes the shards of glass from himself before he mumbles something about needing to make a phone call. Shrugging off his odd discomfort around them, Wrath finds a plastic bag and begins to pack random food and bottles of water into it.

"What are we supposed to do now? You know Lucifer is going to be upset that we have escaped, and there's no way we can go to Michael," Lust states, her blue gaze worried, "Michael would sooner kill us than allowing us sanctuary in Heaven and we know what Lucifer will do."

Wrath nods in agreement with her sister, "I don't know what you want to do personally, but if things are going to end the way I think they are, I'm going after Lucifer."

"Wrath! That's suicide!"

Wrath shoots a slight glare at the brunette, "We are no longer in Hell, Lust. Our influence is more potent here on Earth than it is in Heaven or Hell. We gain strength from those affected by our influence. You are not expected to come with me, but I'm going after Luci myself."

Lust's eyes soften, a smile tugging at her lips, "As if I'm going to let  _you_  of all people rampage all around!"

Wrath lets out a small chuckle as Dean reenters the store, grabbing a bag before he starts shoving things into it, "Let's go. There's a car outside I can hot wire. Bobby's place isn't far from here and Sammy's phone isn't working."

Wondering who Sammy is, but not bothering to ask, Wrath nods and follows him out of the store, Lust hot on her heels. As the engine starts, Lust immediately hops in the backseat, Wrath taking the front passenger seat. Nothing is said as Dean pulls out, makes a U-turn and speeds down the back road.

* * *

Wrath admits that she likes Bobby Singer. Paranoid, but protective. The older man didn't pull any punches and he definitely remained suspicious of the two sisters. She can respect that, to be honest. The two sisters remain silent for the most part, too busy observing how humanity has changed, as they follow the two Hunters as they arrive at a hotel. A familiar sensation prickles at the back of her neck and after looking over at her sister, she realizes she wasn't the only one to feel it.

"Hey," Wrath calls out, causing both men to stop in their tracks, "We're going to go grab some food at a diner," At the suspicious look from Bobby, Wrath's golden eyes meet his firmly, "I figured this Sam you tracked down is important and it might be best for us to be away for the personal visit. We'll be over there," Wrath points in the direction of a diner directly across from the hotel.

Dean seems thankful, nodding with a small smirk, "Yeah, thanks. Mind ordering me a slice of pie while you're waiting?"

Lust snorts, obviously wanting to spout a lewd comment, but Wrath only claps a hand on her sister's shoulder, "Sure thing."

As the two sisters sit in local cafe, Wrath is pulled from her inner musings as she feels Lust's stare burning into her skull, "What?"

"Why did you do it?" Lust asks, her voice soft to keep anyone from over-hearing and at Wrath's cocked eyebrow, she elaborates, "You prayed to Heaven, knowing you would get caught. Why did you choose him over all other souls?"

"Did you  _see_  his soul? It wasn't right, Lust. Dean Winchester has a strong destiny, whether he wants it or not," Wrath answers, sipping her coffee, her sharp gaze following the dark-haired woman leaving the hotel complex.

"Is that what I think it is?" Lust spits out, disgusted as the true face reveals to their sight.

Wrath swallows her mouthful of coffee, nodding curtly, "We're going to have to keep an eye out. Perhaps, keeping our powers leashed for the most part is our best course of action, at least until we figure out what her scheme is."

Lust nods in agreement, her eyes glaring as the possessed meat-suit climbs into a car, "Do you have a mark on you, like Dean?" Wrath nods, motioning to both of her shoulders, golden eyes returning the question, "Mine is on the small of my back, but...I sense a different signature than your's and Dean's."

"Don't worry, Lust," the red-head says calmly, stirring her coffee with a small spoon, "I have a feeling Dean is going to meet his savior soon enough."

Both women watch as Dean and Bobby lead a tall, lanky man across the street. Watching her once-torturer, Wrath's tongue runs along the inside of her mouth, the subtle tinge of salt the only remnants of the real reason behind her risking her existence. Unsure of the  _why_  but she recognizes the signs of a bond forming and the one that formed between her and Dean will most likely play out differently than the one she has with the elusive Castiel.

 


End file.
